3. Miranda

THREE

MIRANDA

As I stood back to assess my booth between customers, a sense of unease crept through me. Something was off with the display. While the table was meticulously organized with my lotions and serums lined up like soldiers ready for inspection, the overall aesthetic felt lacking.

I glanced at the surrounding booths, taking in their displays, and that was when I spotted the perfect solution to my dilemma.

A rustic wooden shelf at the woodworker's booth across from mine.

It was exactly what I needed—a natural, elegant way to display my products. I glanced at the cash I'd already made this morning—forty bucks. Surely, the shelf wouldn't be more than that. I stepped away from my booth and headed toward the man standing at the booth across from mine, whom I assumed was the owner. His eyes were on me, tracking my approach.

"Hi," I said when I reached his table. "I couldn't help but notice your shelf there. It's exactly what I need for my display. How much are you asking for it?"

He blinked as though it took him a moment to process what I was saying, and then his attention dipped to the shelf. "This shelf? I'm not sure?—"

Before he could finish, another voice interrupted us. "Excuse me, I saw that shelf first," claimed a woman who appeared beside me, her tone firm, and leaving no room for argument.

My heart sank.

I hadn't even noticed her. Had she been standing here the whole time?

Even though it was silly, panic fluttered in my chest. This shelf was the missing piece, the element that would elevate my booth from homemade to professional looking. I couldn't let it slip through my fingers. But the last thing I wanted was to cause a scene or get into an argument over a piece of wood, even if it was perfect for what I needed.

I turned to the man running the booth, trying to gauge his reaction to what the woman said, and hoping he could sense the importance of the shelf to me.

"It's perfect for my display over there," I insisted, pointing to my booth.

He looked from me to the other woman, a hint of indecision crossing his features. I held my breath, waiting, hoping that my genuine need for the shelf would resonate with him, that he'd understand this was more than just an impulse buy. Tension spiked through the air as the other woman flashed me a nasty look. Clearly, she wasn't about to back down. Before she could open her mouth again, the man spoke.

"I'm sorry," he began, locking eyes with the other woman, "but I'm going to sell it to her. I don't mean to offend you, though." His voice was smooth and apologetic, but firm.

The woman, though clearly disappointed, nodded before walking away to look at another booth.

"Thank you," I said, gratitude flooding me.

He smiled. "You're welcome. I'm Ethan, by the way," he introduced himself, extending a hand.

"Miranda."

As I shook his hand, a jolt of electricity sparked across my palm where we touched. I jerked my hand away, and noticed when Ethan startled at the sensation too.

That was strange.

"You can have it," he said, nodding to the shelf before running a hand through his hair. "The shelf, I mean. You can have it. Free of charge."

His generosity caught me off guard. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I wasn't expecting anyone to be interested in any of the things I make. So, to see someone who wants a piece of mine so badly feels good." He crammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and flashed me an adorable grin.

"Thank you. I don't know what else to say," I replied, picking up the shelf.

He glanced behind me at my booth, and I swore I could see the wheels in his head start to spin.

"You know, I could make shelves that fit your space better. Ones tailored to highlight your products exactly how you want."

"Really?" I balked. "You'd do that for me?"

"Yeah," he said with an easy shrug. "I think everyone's craft deserves the perfect frame. Plus, you've clearly worked hard on your products. They should be displayed beautifully."

My panther made a noise in response to his words as warmth stirred inside me, catching me off guard. We discussed my booth, my products, and how the custom shelves could enhance my display or help me organize things at home better. As we talked, his genuine interest in my work was clear, and I found myself opening up about my passion for natural skincare and the artistry behind my creations.

Until I noticed customers standing at my booth.

"Okay, then," I said, feeling reluctant to cut our conversation short. Ethan's presence was warm, easy. "When can you start on those shelves for me?"

"I'll start on them first thing in the morning. They'll be done by Monday."

"Awesome." I smiled. "Should I meet you somewhere in town to pick them up and pay?" I asked, walking away from his booth backward to tend to the customers pursuing my booth.

"How about at the Caffeinated Fox," he suggested, nodding to the coffeeshop behind him. "Two o'clock on Monday?"

"Sure, sounds good."

As I walked back to my booth, an unexpected flutter of butterflies swarmed my stomach and my panther skimmed the surface. Something about Ethan had drawn her out.

The next hour passed in a blur. People bought more of my products than I'd thought possible. All the while, my thoughts kept going back to Ethan. I didn't know why he'd made such an impression on my panther, but she'd certainly enjoyed his company.

As I straightened a few containers of serum, lining them up properly, I tried to push thoughts of him to the back burner of my mind. Just when I thought I'd won, my gaze would swing in his direction again and the thoughts would start back up.

"I love your lotions," a woman standing at my booth said, pulling my attention back to reality. She held up a jar like she'd found a national treasure, and a smile spread onto my face. "They're so light and fluffy. I love they don't leave me feeling greasy."

"Thank you. It took a lot of trial and error to figure the right recipe out," I said.

"I'm sure." She handed me the last two jars with a smile. "I'll take them both. My sister's birthday is coming up and this would be the perfect gift."

"Wonderful," I said, carefully bagging them for her.

As the next hour dragged on, my mind continuously drifted back to Ethan. I couldn't shake off the weird magnetic pull he had on my panther.

Honestly, he had us both twisted up inside, and I wasn't sure why.

The fleeting touch we'd shared, that jolt—it couldn't have been nothing. It wasn't just static. It was something to pay attention to.

A gust of wind blew through the market and dark clouds rolled in as I thought things through. I'd noticed something else about Ethan too; he smelled of fur. Which could be why he intrigued my panther and me. He was definitely a shifter, but I wasn't sure what kind. Although, my intuition was saying he was a bear.